


We rise and we fall and we break

by Splatx



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blessed Are The Peacemakers, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28878006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: “With you watching over us, I’d walk into hell itself.”Well, someone had gone into hell, but it sure hadn’t been Dutch.You healed, slowly.Your scars sealed over, and your bruises finally faded. Your limp died to something manageable, and moving didn’t hurt half so much.And then the vomiting started.
Relationships: Dutch van der Linde/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	We rise and we fall and we break

_“With you watching over us, I’d walk into hell itself.”_

Well, someone had gone into hell, but it sure hadn’t been Dutch.

You don’t remember much of those three days - perhaps you’ve blocked them out - but your body sure does. Some month later and you’re still not fully healed, your breath still catches in your chest, you move stiff and have to mind your limp.

You remember, barely, riding back. Slumping over your mare’s neck and telling her to get you home. Those days in Lone Mule Stead are far foggier, and still you are stitching them back together. It comes back to you in wisps and snatches, in nightmares that leave you gulping down nasty coffee to keep from falling back into their grasp. Bill had returned, once, smelling of sweet woodsmoke, and that night you’d dreamt of a red-haired bastard that smelled of the same, that had burned you horribly. Sean, telling a story, had brought back the memory of a man who pronounced ‘bitch’ the exact same way.

You’d been laid up for two weeks - twice, the Reverend had given you your Last Rites. Infection had set in deep in your wounds, and they had feared they’d have to amputate your arm.

It had been a damn close thing.

Everyone had visited you at some point.

Poor Sean had lost another tooth to your heel for daring to speak the same brogue as your captors when you were feverish and confused, and Charles had nursed a black eye for quite some time after you’d lost your lucidity while he was visiting.

Lenny and Hosea had read to you, and once you were somewhat better Jack had worked on his reading lessons with you as his ~~victim~~ listener. The girls had sat with you as they worked, and Cain kept you company. Susan hadn’t had the heart to kick him out.

Everyone, that is, except Dutch.

You’d asked Hosea once, and he’d avoided the question. But you hadn’t been sleeping well and, if he’d visited or checked on you while you were sleeping, he would have woken you up.

He never had.

It was, you thought, maybe a good thing. Dutch had never handled illness well, always turned tail when someone was sick; it was almost a guarantee that he'd take up work outside of camp when someone was laid up. Hosea had bullied him into visiting Jack once when the boy was down with the flu - Jack had proceeded to vomit, and Dutch had done the same.

And when he’d seen you for the first time since you rode into camp, still hazy and sickly as you stepped out of your tent, he’d looked like he might do so again as he fled into his tent.

  
  


You healed, slowly.

Your scars sealed over, and your bruises finally faded. Your limp died to something manageable, and moving didn’t hurt half so much. Finally, Dutch dared to speak to you, staring as though you were dynamite about to go off all the while, trying poorly to hide it.

Things, finally, went back to normal.

And then the vomiting started.


End file.
